


come on snake, let's rattle

by tender_sushijima



Series: sakuatsu [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crush at First Sight, Delinquents, Fights, High School, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29492130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_sushijima/pseuds/tender_sushijima
Summary: Miya Atsumu. One of the top five fighters of Terasu High. Hates being disrespected by his juniors.Sakusa Kiyoomi. A "dark horse" newbie at Terasu High. Excels at being disrespectful to anyone.They clash. Who will win?
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou & Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu & Suna Rintarou & Ojiro Alan, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: sakuatsu [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161872
Kudos: 25
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	come on snake, let's rattle

**Author's Note:**

> They're both idiots in this. Two idiots clearly in love, but unfortunately express themselves better with their fists than their mouths.
> 
> I also love High&Low. It's janky at times, but so aesthetically pleasing. Plus the pretty boys? Hell yeah.

“What’s for lunch today, Atsumu-san?”

He smiles at the shock of orange hair popping over his right shoulder and ruffles it. The sun is bright out the window he’s leaning over, though Shoyo’s hair puts it to shame. “No ‘good morning’ for me?”

“Ah, g’morn’!”

Atsumu chuckles. Hinata Shoyo’s one week old in Terasu High, but with how swiftly he’s made himself at home and established friendships here and there, he might as well be as old as Atsumu who’s nearing his second year. Heck, he’s actually closer in similarity to one of the eldest members of the school, Bokuto Koutarou, who’s going to enter his fourth year soon.

“Speak of the devil…” Atsumu mutters under his breath when he hears the man himself barrel into the room like a whirlwind, his hooting reverberating in the mostly vacant classroom. Shoyo blinks at him confusedly, to which Atsumu pats him on the head again before turning around. “What’s up, Bokkun?”

“TsumTsum you won’t believe what just happened.” Bokkun zigzaggedly marches through the heaps of broken chairs and tables stacked haphazardly, barely missing the splinters that poke out like spikes. He slips on a paper on the floor and falls on his butt with a magnificent thwack.

“Bokuto-san!”

Atsumu rolls his eyes, letting Shoyo attend to his clumsy senior. “Is the tuna sandwich not being sold today?” he asks as he turns back to look out the window, gazing down at the courtyard where a couple of first years are mock fighting. Their gakuran shimmer under the early morning’s sunlight, quickly gathering dirt and dust from rolling on the floor and getting kicked at by each other. He doesn’t see the infuriating mop of black hair anywhere, which is good. Atsumu’s not looking to get a fight picked out for him first thing in the morning.

“You won’t believe what I’m boutta say,” Bokkun says.

“I don’t believe majority of what you say.”

“He’s beaten Sunarin and Alan.”

The first years all collapse in a choreographed manner, laughing. Atsumu’s eyebrows pull together as he steps around to face them, crooked by the time Shoyo stops clambering onto Bokkun and they return his gaze. “What did you say?” he inquires slowly, too slowly that his voice drags and rumbles in his throat.

“Um, I said he’s beaten Sunarin and Alan,” Bokkun repeats, but he’s not done uttering the rest of the sentence before Atsumu is storming out of the classroom and leaving the sliding doors slapping behind him.

Both Shoyo and Bokkun freeze, not quite sure what the next best course of action should be. Shoyo tightens his hold around Bokkun’s shoulders, pressing his cheek on the latter’s back. “Did we piss off Atsumu-san?” he asks anxiously.

Bokkun shakes his head and heaves Shoyo higher. “No, Tsumu’s always been pissed at that new guy,” he says. “Let’s go see what he’s gonna do, shall we?”

No one in the entire town has not heard of Miya Atsumu, what more the students in Terasu High themselves. He’s one of the five commanding chiefs of the school slash fight club, having carved his name since he was fourteen for never having lost a street brawl of any kind. Atsumu climbed up the ranks in no time upon admittance, easily tearing through the hierarchy and further widening the distance between him and those who’d entered the same batch as him. In the span of a month as a first year, he’s granted a position with the higher-ranked students, most of whom were dissatisfied with his speedy progression but none of whom dared to challenge him.

Despite that, it was no walk in the park for Atsumu to get to where he is. He had to officially defeat a number of students even if he’s long proven his abilities, and two of them had posed as rather formidable obstacles. Two of whom were destroyed by the one-week-old Sakusa Kiyoomi, the new guy whose first step upon entering Terasu High was to provoke him into a fight.

“Hey, hey, chill, Atsumu,” Alan is holding him back, his face bruised and bloodied. He has a split lip that prevents him from closing his mouth, and he winces as he speaks. “He beat us fair and square. It’s official.”

“Oh, so now we can disregard the rules because he’s a dark horse?” Atsumu unhands Alan forcefully, which he feels bad for, but his fury overwhelms his apology.

He stalks towards the newbie across the room, the spacious room that’s been specially cleared out at the center and reserved for scuffles involving high-ranking students. The room at the center of which Sakusa Kiyoomi insolently stands, casually fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. There’s not even a mark to indicate he’s been fighting, save for the tousled state of his wavy hair. The infuriating mop of a black hair that’s irked Atsumu since he first saw it.

“Hey, kid,” Atsumu barks at him, “you ever heard of ‘respect your elders’? You’re supposed to be playing with your friends outside, not groveling here to please your seniors.”

“I think you might need to wear prescription glasses. You can’t seem to notice that it’s your friends who’re groveling.”

Sunarin coughs out a laugh from where he’s lying on the floor, not bothered to pick himself up. Alan doesn’t even meet Atsumu’s eyes, his own downcast. The sorry sight of his two rivals slash best friends fuels his anger and his fists shake at his sides. “What a load of trash coming out of your mouth,” he glowers.

“Believe what you want. I’m here because my friends outside told me that the only way I could earn a fight with you is if I defeated these two. So I did, which means now we can _officially_ fight, Miya-san.”

Ironically, the honorific is what ticks him off, and it’s not because Atsumu still insists on honoring the hierarchical system. He’s lenient enough to allow Shoyo to treat him as if they’re equals, so it’s not a matter of honorifics that drives his fist at the newbie’s face.

Atsumu’s always made sure that his head is clear and he’s not strung up before entering any fistfight, but he knows the steps he took are not miscalculated. He’s done it enough times that he could do it with his eyes closed, yet he’s got his wrist locked on his back and the newbie breathing down his neck in a second. Bokkun and Shoyo choose that time to enter, pausing at the doorway, while Alan and Sunarin gape.

“It’s not good to fight in a fit of rage, Miya-san. I don’t want either of us to be at a disadvantage when we’re clashing.”

Osamu chokes on his drink and Sunarin reaches to pat his back without looking. Alan only shakes his head, refraining from moving his lips too much. Atsumu might’ve sported a similar cut on his face if Bokkun hadn’t immediately stepped in and personally cut the conflict short, though he begs to differ. It would be that cocky newbie who’ll have his lip cut for sure, not Atsumu.

“You just got wrecked, my bro,” Osamu laughs. He sticks out his tongue when Alan holds down Atsumu’s hand about to flip the plate of fries at him. “He sounds like a wild card. Just be glad he didn’t go anywhere else.”

“I’m not mad that he dodged my punch. I’m mad that he’s messing up the hierarchy.”

“Why do you care so much about that in the first place?”

“Because I had to adhere to them! Why should he be exempted?”

Osamu exchanges a look with Alan, who shakes his head again, while Sunarin pops a handful of fries into his mouth with an entertained hum. “So… you’re just jealous?” Osamu concludes with a lift of his eyebrow.

“Why am I _jealous?"_

“I don’t know, because he gets a free pass that you didn’t get? Sounds to me like you’re jealous.”

“And threatened,” Sunarin adds. He juts out his bandaged chin when Atsumu jerks aggressively in his direction, brandishing a fist. “That kid easily took us down within a week of his arrival when you’d taken two weeks. He broke your record.”

Sunarin’s right. Even Osamu knows it’s the truth, though more than just because he and Atsumu are twins who’re slightly telepathic. He may be the only one in their group who’s untainted by the reputation of being a delinquent, but he knows the inner workings of their world better than anyone else. And packed with that are the years spent with Atsumu, enabling him a little more insight into the daily events of how an irregular schoolkid deals with the operation of his even more irregular school.

Atsumu averts his eyes sheepishly and says nothing, which only further confirms it. His cheeks darken under the warm lighting and both Osamu and Sunarin nod knowingly. Alan pats his back sympathetically.

“I mean, he’s younger than you, right? He may be on par with you, but he’s still below you,” Osamu says with a nonchalant shrug. “If anything, he serves as a good partner. Someone you can have a friendly competition with and learn from.”

“Like a fated rival?”

Osamu grimaces at Sunarin’s waggling eyebrows, but the expression melts into a small smile. Atsumu gags at them. Alan doesn’t hold down Osamu’s hand from flinging a wad of tissue at him.

“Just so you know, I’m not doing this because you asked for it. I’m doing this so you’ll quit yapping at me to duke it out with you.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi nods understandingly. He pays no mind to the jeers and boos directed at him, folding up his sleeves neatly like he’s getting ready in his room and not standing under the beating sun surrounded by his unsupportive schoolmates. “That’s fine by me,” he says. “I don’t care how it happens. I just want to fight you.”

The words are spoken in a neutral, matter-of-factly tone, but Atsumu is offended. “Why? Is it because you want to use me as a yardstick?” Then, though it hurts his pride, he adds, “Because I’m the lowest in the ranking of commanding chiefs?”

“No, because you’re Miya Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s smirk falls. He turns to where his friends are standing on the sidelines, inquiring with his eyes. All four of them shake their heads in varying degrees of speed and intensity. “What do you mean ‘because I’m me’?”

“We’re wasting time talking. Let’s begin.” Sakusa Kiyoomi slips into the standard fighting stance, but his shoulders are too relaxed and his arms are not quite locked with strength. His hands hang loosely in front of him, which doesn’t sit well with Atsumu. He doesn’t like that he’s facing off someone _that_ cocky.

Atsumu shakes away that thought and gets into his stance, fists up high and one foot in front of the other. He’ll be the one calling the shots in this fight. “Not backing out?” he asks, half-mockingly and half-genuinely.

“Shut up and fight me already.”

They’d started around evening time, not long after school was dismissed, and it’s dark now. The crowd had dispersed once the results appeared and the winner was celebrated, but it was far from over for the two of them. They’d taken a five-minute break, plus minus, depending on how long it’d taken for the others to clear out, and then picked up from where they left off. The initial winner was Atsumu, but the newbie apparently possesses a higher rate of recovery, and he wins the second round.

Sunarin wastes no time in pulling out his phone, probably shooting off a message to Osamu to congratulate him on his brother’s first defeat. Alan’s arch frown as he looks over Sunarin’s shoulder is the telltale sign. Meanwhile, Bokkun and Shoyo hover anxiously, unsure if they should step in and help Atsumu up or wait.

“It was a good fight.”

Atsumu has to make an effort to open his eyes, as both of them were alternatively punched shut. He lifts his head to look at the newbie, who’s already on his feet. “What the hell do you eat to be that strong?” he wheezes, throwing his head back on the ground.

“I just exercise a lot.”

“That was rhetorical…” Atsumu stretches his limbs, feeling the burns and the pulses that’ll soon mar his skin in blue-black blotches. Normally, he’s never had to haul himself back up because he’s always the last one standing, but Sakusa Kiyoomi is no normal kid. He’d surpassed three major fighters in less than two weeks of being in Terasu High.

Atsumu’s head tingles as the reality of the situation dawns on him. He’s going to have to give up his position to the new kid, even if the other commanding chiefs protest. His pride won’t allow him to hold on to it desperately. “Hey, Omi,” he calls, his voice cracking. He clears his throat. “You’re officially the fifth commanding chief now.”

The other four stop at that, but none of them says anything.

Omi is quiet too. He staggers in his approach, the furrow of his eyebrows more obvious up close. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve earned it. Not because I lost to you, because I did win the first time, but because I’m willingly giving it up to you.”

The moment is broken by Sunarin’s scoff. “Sounds to me like you’re asserting your dominance,” he says as his shoulders shake with mirth. Bokkun starts to laugh too, but he quickly clamps a hand over his mouth. Shoyo pretends to find his sleeves amusing and Alan simply sighs.

Atsumu ignores them, rolling onto his side so he could prop himself up to sit. “Whatever. I’m calling it a day. It was a good fight, Omi.”

“Wait. I’m not done yet.”

“Damn, cut me some slack, will you? I think I might’ve broken a couple of bones because you can’t stop kicking me.” When there’s no response to his attempt at being lighthearted, Atsumu drops the sarcastic act and bites down hard at his lip. He grabs a nearby stone and hurls it up at Omi, but he misses and it flies way too far to his right. “Look at me. I’m as dead as a fish can get out of water, but you? You look like you’re ready to take out Bokkun after this. In fact, why don’t you fight him right now? He’s another commanding chief, one of the highest. You can probably reach the top in a month. Kill as many birds with one stone.”

“I’m not interested in fighting Bokuto-san,” Omi replies, getting on his knees. He winces, gives up and opts to sit down instead. “I’m only interested in you.”

Atsumu’s face contorts in pain out of multiple reasons. He’s getting frustrated and he wants out of this, but his legs are weak and he doesn’t trust himself to make it home in one piece. There’s a lump forming in the back of his throat and his eyes are prickling too much. He hangs his head to hide his face, swallowing air. “What does that mean, you brat?” he breathes shakily.

“It means this, you idiot.” And then Omi grabs him by the collar and smashes their lips together.

Most of Atsumu’s peripheral is obscured by his hair, but there’s definitely a flash of light followed by the click of a shutter. Omi pulls away then, fixated on him as if it’s just the two of them present. Atsumu tastes blood on the other side of his mouth, where his lip is not cut, and he subconsciously licks it. He hears someone’s groan, but he ignores it. His eyes are glued onto Omi’s, trailing upwards to the infuriatingly endearing mophead of his.

“Don’t throw me away like trash once you’ve given me a nickname, Atsu,” Omi shakes him softly, his fist still latched onto his shirt. In contrary to his default brooding face, there’s something more shining through, something toeing the lines of bitterness and tenderness. “I wanted to fight you because I like you. Snake rattling—that’s one of the rules in Terasu High, right?”

“Who made that rule? I don’t want to fight Kageyama; he’ll kill me!”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad Osamu didn’t come here. Kita-san will kill me and serve my meat to his customers.”

“Wait, that restaurant serves human meat?!”

“Guys, stop talking! Look at them!”

The four turn to find the two fighters on the ground, their arms around each other as their legs kick and tangle. If they didn’t know better, they’d assume that they’ve started fighting again, but Atsumu never grapples anyone with that tight of a hold.

“You might want to let Komori look over you two tonight,” Bokkun suggests, scratching the side of his head awkwardly. “As your senior, I’m prohibiting you both from any more fights until at least a week.”

“Tell him we’ll be there in an hour,” Omi answers. “He’s my cousin.”

There’s a collective _huh?!_ , but neither of the two react. They don’t remove themselves from each other; Omi lays on his back and keeps an arm around Atsumu, who’s buried his face in the crook of his neck and thrown a leg over both of his.

Because he’s the only one capable of coherent speech, Bokkun adds, “It’s… you could do that cuddling thing somewhere better, you know? Just a suggestion.”

“Shut up, Bokkun,” Atsumu snaps, his voice muffled and sounding close to a watery whine. “Let’s just stay like this for a little longer…”

“Um, yeah, I don’t think so. Come on, let’s leave them alone. They’re both big enough to take care of themselves if they’re exchanging blood too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I realized that Sakusa would've been a first year had he been born at least two weeks past his birthday, my brain just stops functioning from time to time as I'm reminded of it. Anyways, I can't write fight scenes, but if I did write one for this, I'd give up in ten minutes and immediately make them kiss. In fact, Sakusa's "shut up and fight me already" can be read as "shut up and kiss me already" and it wouldn't take away from the story.
> 
> I'm terrible on social media, but if you want to know what other sakuatsu shenanigans I'm up to, I'm always available on [insta](https://www.instagram.com/tender_sushijima/) to engage in incoherent discussions. One day, I'll revive my twitter and I'll be able to fully scream about them 24/7 while unhinged.
> 
> Well then, see you soon in the next story.


End file.
